


I'd be warm through the night with your arms around me tight

by frostysunflowers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Idiots in Love, James "Rhodey" Rhodes Needs a Hug, Love Confessions, M/M, MIT Era, Minor Ned Leeds/Peter Parker, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, autumn vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: ''Can you tell me now?’’ Peter whines, nose scrunching up as a light dusting of rain sprinkles across it. “It’s cold and dark and I’m so aloooone - ''''Alright, alright, you pain in the ass.'' Tony settles back into the cushions and clears his throat. ''A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - ''''Oh mygod, Mister Stark - ''orTo keep Peter entertained on his way to visit a sick Ned, Tony tells a story about the time he took care of a sick Rhodey in college.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 151





	I'd be warm through the night with your arms around me tight

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something to mark our favourite honeybear's birthday haha. This was a real rush so apologies for mistakes, I just haven't got it in me to edit things todaaaay.
> 
> Warning for mentions of vomiting and general flu related grossness. Enjoy!

"Kid?"

The image on the screen of Tony’s phone flutters in a jumble of colours and indecipherable shapes, accompanied by a raspy kind of static that makes him wince. He waits, idly scratching at his goatee until a pair of wide eyes appear sideways on the screen, framed beneath the rim of a thick beanie hat and a bright orange scarf. 

"Huumumphrsar."

Tony blinks, then narrows his eyes. "Have you been drinking?"

He’s rewarded with a laugh and Peter yanking the scarf away from his mouth, careful of the headphone wires looping down from his ears, revealing flushed cheeks and a familiar smile. "Sorry, Mister Stark. Pretty cold out here."

It’s a drizzly night in early November, more on the fresh side of chilly than cold, but Tony can see the ruddy tinge to Peter’s cheeks, his body far more sensitive to the recent temperature drop than anyone else. 

"You wearing your thermals?"

"Uh huh!"

Tony narrows his eyes. _"All_ of them?"

"Yes, _mom._ Jeez, do you want photographic evidence?"

"No thanks, bud. I don’t need to see any more of your underoos than I already have over the years."

Peter’s face turns right side up as he scowls. "I don’t wear - can you not, okay? It’s bad enough waking up in a hospital bed in one of those horrible gowns without having to know _who_ put me in them in the first place."

"If it makes you feel any better, kid, it wasn’t always me. Sometimes May did it."

There’s a pause, Peter’s scowl deepening and a broad grin spreading over Tony’s face, warmth hitting him in the chest like it always does when they go back and forth this way. 

Then Peter rolls his eyes and huffs loudly. "What do you want?"

"Well, my favourite creepy crawly, I was actually calling to see how you are. It’s part of a little thing I like to call caring, but don’t spread the word around too much, it’s only in beta mode right now."

"You’re so lame."

"Says the guy hanging out at - where are you now, standing outside a grocery store?"

Peter twists his phone to show Tony the fluorescent _7-Eleven_ sign above his head. 

"And you call _me_ lame? It’s Saturday night, Parker. Shouldn’t you be out having fun?"

"I’m meant to be! I’m staying with Ned this weekend while his mom and sister are away, but he’s got flu so I thought I’d grab him some supplies before heading over."

Tony hears the faint squeak of the door sliding open as Peter steps inside the store, the angle of the camera shifting so Tony is looking up at his face, everything slightly askew again. "Playing nursemaid, huh?"

"Something like that. Kinda sucks ‘cause it’s his birthday next week, but we’ve got a test that day so we were gonna celebrate today and tomorrow. Ms Leeds made her awesome coconut pie for us to eat and everything."

"I’m sorry, bud."

Peter’s eyes peer into the camera, his head haloed by large bottles of soda. "No you’re not. You’re smiling. Smiling at my misfortune, at Ned’s misfortune, how rude."

Tony snorts. "I’m not, kiddo. Just having a little flashback. You get those a lot when you get to my age. Very entertaining, better than any sitcom."

"You don’t watch sitcoms, Mister Stark."

"I _could."_

"Miss Potts says it’s good that you don’t. You might get ideas."

"What kind of ideas could I get from a sitcom?"

"Not very good ones." Peter looks away and continues to walk around the store. "I should bring fruit, right? Vitamins are good when you’re sick."

"Vitamin C," Tony agrees, heading for the fridge to get a snack of his own. "Get some oranges."

"Got it," Peter says, showing Tony the contents of the basket he’s carrying: two large bottles of lemonade, a package of Halloween themed Oreos with a reduced sticker on the front, cheese Doritos and a small bag of oranges. "A box of meds and I’m good to go."

"Putting Florence Nightingale to shame there, bud," Tony chuckles. 

Peter’s smiling face reappears. "So what were you flashing back to?"

"Oh, you know, back to my days of being young and beautiful."

"Come oooon. Tell me. It’ll keep me entertained on the walk to Ned’s."

"Believe it or not, Pete," Tony says as he flops onto the couch with a bowl of blueberries, "my sole purpose in life is not to entertain you. Anyway, why aren’t you swinging your way over?"

"May made me leave the suit at home."

"Why?"

"So I won’t try and sneak out on patrol after my normal curfew," Peter explains, clearly put out by the whole thing. 

Tony snorts. "Smart lady. Last thing we need is you and your feverish guy in the chair getting up to mischief."

Peter ignores him in favour of talking to the cashier. Tony throws a handful of berries into his mouth while he waits, snorting as he watches Peter wrestle with his monstrosity of a scarf on his way out. "Where did you get that thing?"

"MJ made it for me!"

It all makes sense to Tony then and he shakes his head with a grin. Only someone like Michelle would make such a hideous scarf on purpose, knowing full well that Peter would wear it without complaint. 

"Can you tell me now?’ Peter whines, nose scrunching up as a light dusting of rain sprinkles across it. "It’s cold and dark and I’m so aloooone - "

"Alright, alright, you pain in the ass." Tony leans further back into the cushions and clears his throat. "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - "

"Oh my _god,_ Mister Stark - "

* * *

"Rise and shine, mister."

"Wha’?" Tony’s head jerks up, eyes opening to see nothing but white. He yelps, clawing at his face, and a piece of paper unsticks from his forehead and falls onto the books spread out on the table in front of him. "Oh, hi there, Claudia," he mutters, squinting up at the librarian standing over him. "Looking radiant as always."

Claudia wrinkles her nose at him, pale blue eyes sparkling over the rim of her jade green glasses. "Behave yourself. I’m old enough to be your mother."

"Outrageous." Tony stretches his arms high above his head and yawns. "You don’t look a day over twenty-five."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, you rascal. Now come on, it’s almost seven-thirty and you’ve been in here since the crack of dawn with nothing but a six pack of coke and a giant bag of chips to get you by. Time to go."

"I’ll have you know that I am more than capable of surviving on - wait, did you say seven-thirty?" Tony twists to look at the giant clock on the wall, curses far too loudly, yanks on his jacket and begins stuffing books and papers into his bag. "Oh my god - I’m so late, so late, what the fuck - "

Claudia hisses in displeasure at his language. 

"Sorry, sorry," he winces, wrestling with the zip on his bag whilst downing the last of his now very cold coffee. "I’m supposed to be somewhere."

"Would it have anything to do with this?" Claudia plucks a colourfully wrapped package out from beneath another messy pile of papers. "Special occasion?"

"My roommate's birthday, it’s today. We’ve got dinner reservations for eight thirty so - "

"Better hurry then," Claudia says, handing the gift to him. "It won’t do to stand a nice young man like James Rhodes up, you know."

Tony, having forgotten about Claudia’s ability to know absolutely everything about everybody who ever set one foot in the door of the library, narrows his eyes. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, please. Honey, the only person you’re fooling with that wide eyed innocent act is yourself and that friend of yours. Now off with you, before I have to throw you out."

Pressing a smacker of a kiss to Claudia’s cheek that makes her tut loudly, Tony races off, gift clutched tight to his chest, bursting out of the main doors straight into a torrential downpour. His hair immediately plasters down against his head, thick curls hanging in his eyes, and his clothes start to cling to him like a second skin. 

"Damn it," he growls, hiding the gift under his thin jacket and throwing a glare up towards the dark sky before going back to running, bag bumping heavily against his thigh as he races along. The apartment he shares with Rhodey isn’t far off campus and he makes it home in record time, dodging puddles and managing to avoid collisions with other poor soaked to the bone souls on the way, the world a mess of rain and glowing pumpkins that sit in nearby windows and doorways. As he draws closer to his building, Tony spots an umbrella as it pokes out of the front door, pink as a flamingo in the moody gloom, and shouts, "Hold the door, Angela!"

"Tony Stark!" his neighbour exclaims as he squeezes past her with a groan. "You look like a drowned rat."

"Thanks!" Tony calls as the door shuts, leaving him standing on the giant welcome mat inside the entrance hall, giant droplets rolling off him in endless streams. He plucks the gift out from under his jacket and groans again. The wrapping paper is ruined, completely sodden and nearly all of the colour lost in the rain. 

Tucking it under his arm with an irritated huff, Tony takes two waterlogged steps up the stairs, only to pause as he spots a large package sitting beneath the collection of mailboxes on the wall. Craning his neck, he sees Rhodey’s name and their address written in a familiar slanting scrawl across the top next to a red RUSH stamp. 

"Huh," Tony hums, leaving the stairs to go and collect it, balancing his own gift on top of what he knows to be one of Mama Rhodes’ legendary care packages, no doubt topped up with extra birthday treats. It must have arrived sometime this morning, so Tony wonders how Rhodey missed it, especially when he must have been expecting a gift to arrive at some point. 

As Tony carries it up the stairs, his nose catches a vague aroma of something sweet and he immediately picks up the pace. Mama Rhodes’ food is fit for the gods as far as Tony’s concerned, rich and indulgent and dangerously moreish. His first taste had been nearly three years ago when Rhodey, after discovering that Tony intended to spend Thanksgiving alone in their dorm, had dragged him back home to Philly. It was a long drive and Tony had fidgeted nervously the entire way, terrified that Rhodey, his new and only friend in the world, _and_ Rhodey’s family would come to hate him by the time the holidays were over. 

He needn’t have worried though, because Mrs Roberta Rhodes had opened the door, taken one look at Tony and yanked him into the house without even a hello, shouting for Rhodey’s father to grab some plates because there was fattening up to do. 

Tony returned home at least five pounds heavier, a gigantic tupperware box full of spiced rum cake in hand, and all but officially adopted into the Rhodes family. 

It’s that delicious cake that Tony thinks of as braces the box against the wall with his chest and fumbles for his keys, mouth watering as he pulls them free from his wet pocket and jams them into the lock.

"Yooohooo!" he calls as he steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him. "Honeybear, I’m...home?"

A dark, slightly chilly apartment greets him. It’s only a small place: two box bedrooms, an open kitchen and living room and a small bathroom, but the darkness makes it seem cavernous and long, the only source of light trickling through in narrow streaks from outside the living room windows. 

"Rhodey?" Tony sets the box down on the floor and removes his bag, dropping that too. It hits the floor with a thud that echoes far too loudly in the quiet. "You in?"

No reply. 

It’s not like Tony’s never come home to an empty apartment before. Despite all the time they spend together, his and Rhodey’s schedules differ significantly, so it’s not out of the ordinary for them to go a day without even seeing each other, or come home to find the other already asleep. 

But this isn’t the same thing. Rhodey’s supposed to be here. Where else could he be? Where could he have been all day on his birthday that he hasn’t even managed to pick up the gift sent by his mother?

An icy chill trails down Tony’s spine, and it’s nothing to do with the sodden state of his clothes. 

Something’s wrong. 

"Rhodey?" he hisses, heart creeping up into his throat. "Rhodey, I swear to god if this is some kind of early Halloween prank, I’m never talking to you again."

No answer. 

"Okay, we both know that’s a lie but I’ll be extremely unhappy for at least a week. I’m talking explosions in the kitchen sink unhappy, and we both know how much you hate that."

A sudden crash comes from the bathroom, muffled behind the closed door. Cursing frantically under his breath, Tony quickly grabs the plastic lightsaber sticking out of the stand by the coat pegs, strategically placed for future impromptu battles. 

"Please don’t be an axe murderer, please don’t be an axe murderer," he mutters as he advances along the hall, shoes squelching, lightsaber poised ready to swing, only briefly considering that this is a really stupid thing to do. 

It’ll be just Tony’s luck if there is some lunatic hiding out among the toothpaste and Star Wars shower curtain, so inconsiderate of Tony’s plan to finally tell Rhodey that he’s been head over heels in love with him for ages and wants to kiss his face off, among other things. 

Or maybe it’s a sign. 

Maybe the appearance of said lunatic is the universe's way of telling Tony that confessing his feelings to Rhodey is a bad idea. It’s not like Tony hasn’t considered this possibility, excluding the lunatic plot twist, many times over the last few months while lying in bed and staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling. 

But he’s seen the way Rhodey’s been looking at him lately; felt how their usually causal touches linger longer than normal; the crackle of something electric when they hold each other’s gazes for more than a few seconds, and he’ll be damned if he misses out on something so potentially awesome because of some crazy person hiding in the bathroom on a dark and stormy night. 

Something smashes just as Tony reaches the door, probably one of the aftershave bottles that he keeps on the long shelf by the sink, and a shadow passes over the tiny gap of light at the bottom. Gripping the hilt of the lightsaber tighter in one sweaty hand, Tony grabs the handle of the door, closes his eyes, counts to three, then shoves it open. It flies into the wall on the other side with a loud thud, causing someone to lurch up from the floor with a surprised yell that has Tony screaming and swinging the lightsaber with all his might. 

It collides with the shelf, sending toothbrushes and an assortment of bottles and tubes flying in every direction. Still yelling, Tony rears back to swing again, only to pause as his gaze focuses on the dishevelled figure leaning against the wall. 

"Rhodey?" Tony lowers the lightsaber with a relieved laugh. "Holy shit, I thought you were - hey, hey, you look terrible."

It’s not an understatement. A sheen of sweat glistens on Rhodey’s skin and his breathing comes in short, congested rasps. There’s a tightness around his eyes as he squints over in Tony’s direction, as though simply blinking is causing him pain. 

"H-hey," he says roughly, then sinks to his knees and vomits loudly into the toilet. 

Tony drops the lightsaber and instinctively kneels down by Rhodey’s side, one hand coming up to rub slow circles between his shoulders, frowning at the heat seeping through Rhodey’s damp shirt. "Jeez, honeybear. How long you been feeling like this?"

Rhodey’s answer comes in the form of more heaving. The sound bounces off the tiles violently, accompanied by prolonged splashing that makes Tony feel slightly nauseous himself, the scent of his spilt aftershave not helping matters at all. He continues rubbing Rhodey’s back a little helplessly, looking around the bathroom for something helpful but finding no source of inspiration anywhere except for the pink washcloth sitting on the edge of the sink. 

With another pat to Rhodey back, Tony moves over to the sink and runs the cloth under the tap, ringing out the excess water and folding it into a rough rectangle. 

"Here," he murmurs, crouching back down and pressing the cloth to the back of Rhodey’s neck. 

Rhodey groans, breathing heavily as he turns his head, resting his cheek on the edge of the toilet seat. "Fuck…" One of his eyes cracks open and peers up at Tony, glassy and wet. "Tones…"

"Yeah, I’m here. Didn’t wanna miss out on all the fun."

Rhodey groans again, sluggishly flailing a hand in Tony’s direction. "You’re all wet."

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Tony glances down at his clothes with a laugh, "I decided to save time and take a shower on the way home."

Rhodey blinks slowly, takes another deep breath, then twists his head to throw up again. It’s a weak effort this time, nothing but fruitless retching, but it's enough to have Tony wincing in sympathy. 

"When did this little fiesta start, huh?" he asks as he adjusts the cloth on the back of Rhodey’s neck. 

"Last night."

"Really?" Tony frowns. "Why didn’t you say something?"

Rhodey’s face reappears and he leans sideways, shoulder pressing up against the wall. "Didn’t want you to worry."

"Worry? Me? I never worry."

"You thought we had the plague when we got food poisoning at Easter."

Tony’s stomach instantly churns at the memory. "I don’t care what you say, fried turkey legs are _not_ capable of causing such destruction to a person's body."

"Please don’t talk about food," Rhodey moans, grabbing the washcloth from the back of his neck and rubbing it over his face. "Ever again."

"Guess you don’t wanna hear about our dinner reservations then."

"Huh? Dinner?"

"For your birthday."

"My - that’s _today?"_ Rhodey blinks, clearly stunned. "Wow. That sucks."

Tony grimaces. "Yeah." He holds out a hand. "Wanna try making it to the couch?"

"Gimme a minute. Go put something dry on."

Tony, still dripping all over the floor, socks clinging uncomfortably to his feet and hair growing curlier by the minute, does as he’s told, reluctantly leaving Rhodey alone to go and quickly find some dry clothes. Pulling on his comfiest hoodie and sweatpants and running a hand through his hair to tussle away some of the lingering dampness, Tony steps out of his room to find Rhodey in the hallway waiting for him, hunched over slightly and shivering.

"C’mon," Tony murmurs, wrapping an arm around Rhodey’s waist and leading him through to the living room. "You’ll feel better if you lie down."

Rhodey hums gratefully, then sneezes so violently that both of them jump. Another one comes directly after, then another as they stumble towards the couch in the dark. Wiping his streaming nose on his sleeve, Rhodey sinks back into the pile of assorted and horribly mismatched cushions with a grateful sigh while Tony switches on the lights and grabs the two fleece blankets from the back of the armchair. Despite the sweat still clinging to his skin, Rhodey shudders and pulls them both right up to his chin. 

"Thanks, man," he sighs, closing his eyes.

"S’fine," Tony murmurs, patting his shoulder. "Be back in a sec."

Disappearing into the kitchen, Tony grabs the phone from the wall and dials the number from one of the business cards stuck to the fridge. 

_"Cavells, how can I help you?"_

"Yeah, hi, I’ve got a reservation for tonight that I need to cancel, please."

The voice on the other end sighs. _"We require payment of fifty dollars for all cancellations made less than twenty four hours - "_

"You guys deliver?"

_"...Excuse me?"_

Tony toys the phone cord around his fingers. "Deliver. You know, where you put food in boxes and have someone drive it over here."

 _"Sir_ ," the voice says with utter disdain, _"we are a quality establishment. A three course meal costs the minimum of a hundred dollars. We do not deliver."_

"Oh, come on. I’ll still be paying the same amount of money, and I’ll be more than generous with my tip. All I ask is that you bring two fillet steaks, some salad and an extremely large portion of fries to my apartment. I’m a ten minute drive away. C’mon. You don’t want to lose business over a measly little ten minute drive, do you?"

 _"What part of we do not deliver do you not understand?_ " the voice snaps, the previous lilt of a faint french accent vanishing, swamped by irritation. 

Tony casts his eyes to the ceiling, cringing as he says smoothly, "What if I told you that I’m Tony Stark? Would that make a difference?"

"... _Goodnight, sir."_

A sharp click and then the dial tone hums irritably into Tony’s ear. He slams the phone back onto the receiver and folds his arms, scowling at the two yet to be carved pumpkins resting on the windowsill above the sink. From the living room comes more ferocious sneezing, accompanied by the odd spluttering cough, and Tony feels every bit of him soften with sympathy. 

Sure, he’s beyond disappointed. Aside from wanting to do something nice for his best friend on his birthday, Tony had hoped to use tonight as a way of potentially (and hopefully successfully) wooing Rhodey. He’d spent a month fretting over the gift too, unable to decide if it would be good enough to convey the magnitude of this whole unspoken thing between them. 

Now, with all plans having gone flying out of the window, the only thing that matters is taking care of Rhodey and, if they're lucky, somehow giving him something of a happy birthday. 

Tony sets about fixing some tea and gathering tissues. On his way to fetch the spare washing up bowl from under the bathroom sink, he catches sight of the package from Rhodey’s mother, still sitting by the front door with Tony’s miserable looking gift resting on top. 

"Look, honeybear," Tony says cheerfully as he carries everything into the living room, putting the package down in front of Rhodey on the table. "Presents from home."

Rhodey pokes his head out from beneath the blanket to peer at it curiously. He looks up at Tony. "You’re definitely not messing with me? Today is my birthday?"

"You got about four hours of it left, but yeah."

"Damn. Uh, did my mom call?"

"Probably. I can call her and let her know - "

"No," Rhodey huffs. "She’ll only fuss."

"I like it when she fusses."

A small smile flickers over Rhodey’s dry lips. "Yeah, that’s why you’re her favourite."

Tony preens, placing a hand on his chest and batting his eyelashes. Rhodey snorts which turns into a choking cough that has Tony rushing for a glass of water to help ease it away. 

"So are we assuming this is that flu that’s been going round?" he asks as he holds the glass up to Rhodey’s mouth, refusing to let go even as Rhodey glares petulantly over the rim. "Or have you been partying too hard?"

Rhodey shakes his head, gently pushes the glass away and takes a few slow breaths. His eyes suddenly widening in alarm is the only warning Tony gets and he barely grabs the bucket in time to thrust it beneath Rhodey’s chin. 

"Flu it is," he mutters over the noise, rubbing Rhodey’s back like before. 

They sink into a rinse and repeat routine for the next hour or so, any water Rhodey drinks coming back up shortly after and Tony emptying the bucket while trying his best not to worry. After Rhodey drifts off into a restless doze, Tony keeps himself busy with changing Rhodey’s sweaty bed sheets, clearing up the bathroom floor and trying to enhance their decrepit vacuum cleaner, covering the hallway with tools and clunky parts covered in dust, tinkering away while the rain continues to lash against the windows. 

"Tones?"

Nearly flying headfirst into the wall in his haste to get up from the hallway floor, Tony hurries into the living room, finding Rhodey still on the couch, still wrapped up like a burrito save for one arm sticking out to hold his glass of water. He still looks awful, face pinched and breathing laboured, but his gaze turns determined as he takes a sip of water and pointedly swallows it. 

They both wait, Tony bracing himself in anticipation for grabbing the bowl. Nothing happens after about two minutes and Rhodey tentatively takes another sip, eyes closing in either pain or relief, Tony can’t tell. 

"You wanna take the chance with some medicine?" he asks. "Might knock some of that fever out of you."

Rhodey gives a shaky thumbs up so Tony goes to retrieve the box of _Tylenol_ from the medicine cabinet and makes a fresh cup of tea, adding a spoonful of honey like Jarvis used to do for him when he was sick as a child. Rhodey knocks back two pills with a pained grimace but wraps his hands around the mug, the one with a dinosaur riding a bicycle on it, and sighs gratefully, holding it beneath his nose to inhale the steam. 

"Thanks, man."

"Hey, don’t thank me just yet. When I find a way to synthesize some super duper pain pills that knock colds and flus flat on their ass, you can thank me then."

"Is that before or after you take over the world?"

"Eh." Tony wiggles his hands. "Haven’t decided. After would probably be best, in case I need to appease anyone and bring them on side."

"Ah yes, the mark of a truly wise ruler - bribery."

Tony grins, moving to sit beside Rhodey, stealing a corner of the blanket. His breath catches in his throat as Rhodey immediately leans into his side, the back of his head pillowed against Tony’s chest. Carefully, Tony lifts his arm and inches it across the back of the couch until his hand touches Rhodey’s shoulder, fingers curling softly around the slope of bone and slowly rubbing the soft material of Rhodey’s sweatshirt. His heart lurches as Rhodey gives a pleased and very stuffy hum and sinks further into his hold, the top of his hair brushing under Tony’s chin. 

"You don’t need to do this, you know," Rhodey murmurs after a short while. "I know it’s my birthday but that doesn’t mean you should sit here watching me sneeze and cough all night."

"Don’t threaten me with a good time." 

Rhodey coughs harshly into his sleeve. "I’m serious."

"So am I," Tony insists, reaching over to ease the mug from Rhodey’s hand and setting it on the table. "You know I love being your personal pillow."

"Bullshit," Rhodey grumbles, allowing Tony to pull him into a proper hug, both arms wrapped around him, their bodies sinking further into the cushions. "I’m always the pillow."

"Consider it a birthday treat then."

Rhodey grumbles something else into Tony’s hoodie, one of his hands tangling into the hem as he shifts into a more comfortable position, one of his arms resting across Tony’s stomach. There’s no other way of describing it: they are literally cuddling together on the couch. They’ve done this sort of thing before but never to this extent. It’s usually a foot in a lap or a head resting on a shoulder, and it’s usually Rhodey accepting instead of instigating the contact, though he never complains and his foot rubs are nothing short of magic. 

This is new territory; familiar but exciting. Tony can’t help wondering if it’s merely down to the vulnerability that usually comes from being sick that is making Rhodey act like this, but a little voice in the back of his head tells him no, it’s something more. 

Thinking of all the looks they’ve shared recently, Tony carefully settles his hands across the expanse of Rhodey’s back, turning his touch feather light as he traces patterns and shapes, doodling little equations up by Rhodey’s neck that make him shiver. 

"Feels good."

"Mm," Tony hums agreeably, pressing his nose into Rhodey’s hair until it tickles. "Good."

Rhodey’s coughing breaks the moment a little but they quickly settle back into it, legs tangling together beneath the blanket.

"Why did you have the lightsaber earlier?"

"Thought you were an axe murderer."

"And you decided a plastic lightsaber would be the best choice of weapon to fend me off?"

Tony shrugs. "It was either that or one of the library books in my bag. Weighs the same as a paving slab."

"Or you could have used the door and gone next door to call the police."

"Why would I do that? You’re not an axe murderer."

"But you _thought_ I was."

"You’d be a terrible axe murderer," Tony decides, trying to keep his own breathing steady as he feels Rhodey’s fingers brush against the top of his hip. 

"Good. I haven’t got time to clean up that kinda mess."

"Why is it called an axe murderer anyway? People don’t say ice pick murdurer or hammer murderer if someone uses that for a weapon."

"Why are we - _achoo -_ talking about - _aaaachooo -_ this? It’s not norm - _ah -_ it’s not - _ACHOO!"_

The force of the sneezing nearly shakes them off the couch. With the blanket taking the full brunt of the mess, Tony heaves Rhodey upright and grabs the tissues, raising an eyebrow as Rhodey blows his nose loudly enough to put an elephant to shame. 

"Ugh," he grunts, rubbing a streaming eye, sounding even more congested. "This sucks ass."

"My hugs aren’t _that_ bad, are they?"

Rhodey chuckles roughly around a yawn, shaking his head. "Nah, they’re the best."

A goofy smile immediately spreads across Tony’s face. Rhodey catches sight of it and smiles in return, bashful but warm under the shadows circling his eyes. 

"You, uh…" Tony starts, words clamouring up his throat and tangling on his tongue, too many thoughts and confessions wanting to spill free. "You wanna open that package now?"

Rhodey deflates slightly, looking disappointed for a split second before he nods, coughing into his sleeve again. "Sure."

Inwardly cursing himself, Tony grabs the box and plants it on Rhodey’s lap. They both pull at the tape until the flaps come open, unleashing the unmistakable scent of - 

"Oh my god," Tony groans, sticking his face inside. "That’s your mom’s chocolate chip cookies. And a cheesecake _and_ \- " Tony carefully digs through a collection of wrapped gifts and pulls out a sealed tupperware pot to peer at the contents, "chicken noodle soup. Is your mom psychic? This is exactly what you need right now."

"Wouldn’t put it past her," Rhodey smirks. "That soup cures everything."

"I’ll go heat it up - "

"Hang on." Rhodey’s hand on Tony’s arm keeps him in place. "I wanna open your gift."

"You should really eat something."

"This coming from the guy who would have lived off ramen noodles in our first year if it weren’t for me."

"And your mom’s care packages."

"That too." Rhodey nudges him. "C’mon, I wanna see."

Tony puts the tupperware pot back into the box and moves the whole thing aside, then manhandles Rhodey back into the blankets before picking up his gift from the table. He rubs his thumbs across the mulchy wrapping paper, faint traces of red smearing across his skin as he considers what to say, all his thoughts from previous nights of wondering and planning abandoning him at the last hurdle. 

"Is it a puppy?"

Tony snorts. "How did you know?"

"Just smart, I guess." Rhodey sneezes twice into his elbow then holds out his hand. "C’mon, man. This is bad birthday etiquette right here."

"Oh, well, we can’t have that," Tony rolls his eyes and, with about a million butterflies turning somersaults in his stomach, hands the gift over. 

The paper comes off easily, almost all in one go, unwinding into a long spiral until it’s completely gone. In Rhodey’s hands rests a frame, composed of elaborate and intricate swirls of metal and copper. In the centre of it is a photograph of two men standing beneath a tree at twilight in the middle of a party, the fairy lights above their heads sprinkling them with specks of gold that look like starlight. The two of them are close together, mere inches between their faces, grins wide and bright, eyes undeniably soft as they gaze at one another, oblivious to all that’s going on around them. 

"Oh," Rhodey rasps, cocking his head to the side. "That’s - " he holds up the frame. "Is that in my yard?"

Tony nods. "Fourth of July weekend. Your sister took the picture and gave it to me."

"We look…"

"Yeah, we do."

Rhodey turns the frame round to look again, a strange smile appearing on his face. "Thanks, Tones. This is - it’s really great, I love it."

"I love you."

It’s absolutely not what Tony intends to say. At all. Judging from the completely dumbstruck look on Rhodey’s face, it’s not what he expected to hear either. 

"Uh…" 

"Tony - "

"Look, I didn’t mean that. Well, no that’s a lie, I did mean that ‘cause you know I love you, you’re my best friend so you know I love you, right?"

Rhodey’s posture slackens, eyes turning fond. "Yeah, I know."

"Good, okay, that’s good," Tony says, mouth working at full speed now because clearly his brain has no desire to stop it. "But, uh, lately? I feel like there’s something…" he flicks his finger back and forth between them, "and it’s something I think I’ve wanted for a while now and I think…" he hunches his shoulders up sheepishly, "you might feel the same?"

Rhodey regards him for a moment, face unreadable. Tony stares back, shaking slightly, palms turning sweaty with mounting dread. He knows that whatever happens, Rhodey would never want to hurt him, but that doesn’t mean a rejection won’t hurt like hell. 

The feel of Rhodey’s warm hand slipping into his causes Tony to jump, one of his legs accidentally whacking into the table hard enough to make him yelp. The mug of tea tips over, running along the edge and pouring onto the floor, while Rhodey’s noise of concern turns into a furious coughing fit. Tony grabs the thankfully still upright glass of water and hands it to him, hovering awkwardly as he waits for Rhodey to catch his breath. 

"Well," Rhodey gasps after a few large gulps, "that was dramatic."

Tony smiles weakly, unsure of what to say. 

"Is this what you’ve been rehearsing in the shower for the last couple of weeks?"

Tony’s eyes widen, cheeks instantly flushing. "What?"

Rhodey smirks. "I’ve heard you reciting stuff. Didn’t quite know what it was but now...and I’m guessing dinner was meant to be where we had this conversation? After you gave me the picture?"

"Something like that."

Rhodey hums thoughtfully, still smirking. "And what if I’d turned you down? Would have been a pretty crappy birthday."

"Hey," Tony points a finger at him, "I’m the one getting turned down on your birthday in this scenario, sourpatch, not you."

"True," Rhodey agrees with a croaky laugh. "Good thing I’m not turning you down then, isn’t it."

"You - you’re not?"

"Course I’m not, dumbass. I’ve been waiting for you to get the hint for ages."

"Really?"

"What, you want me to sing it for you?" Rhodey teases. " _Then there was muuuusic and wonderful rosesss_ \- "

He starts coughing again while Tony erupts into loud peals of laughter, grabbing Rhodey and hugging him with such enthusiasm that they nearly topple onto the floor. 

"Your - your dad’s gonna kill you, you know," Rhodey wheezes.

"Let him try."

"And our careers - "

Tony tips onto his back, pulling Rhodey almost fully on top of him, and reaches up to cup Rhodey’s warm face. "I’m good at keeping secrets, so if that’s what we have to do until the world pulls its head out of its ass, then we will." 

Clearing his throat gruffly, Rhodey nods, misty eyes glowing prettily. "I really wish I could kiss you right now."

"I’ve been known to have that effect on people," Tony sighs wearily, snickering as Rhodey jabs him in the ribs. "Hey, that’s not a nice way to treat your man."

Rhodey hums against his chest. "Like the sound of that."

"Me too." Tony nestles his head into a cushion, pressing a kiss to Rhodey’s heated forehead, already daydreaming about what will come after tonight. As far as accidental confessions go, this is definitely up there with the very best. 

"Tony?"

"Yeah, sugarsnap?"

"I’m gonna need to throw up in a minute and I want you to know it’s not a reflection on anything that’s just happened here."

Tony grins. "Good to know, honeybear."

* * *

"So you see, Underoos," Tony concludes, taking a sip from a fresh cup of coffee, "never let something like the flu keep you from achieving your dreams."

On the phone screen, Peter rolls his eyes even as they wrinkle in the corners from a smile. "That was a disgusting story, Mister Stark."

"Teenagers are disgusting, Pete. Especially when there’s romance involved."

"Still, it’s pretty cool you and Colonel Rhodes have been together so long."

"Why do you insist on always making everything about my age?"

"You’re the one who told the story!" Peter laughs, shaking his head.

"Point taken. But don’t think that I won’t be doing the same to you in thirty years from now when you and Ted are pushing fifty and still acting all ga-ga over each other."

"You’ll be beyond senile in thirty - wait," Peter’s face presses up close to the screen. "What did you say?"

"When?"

"Just now. The - the thing about me and Ned?"

"Well, I’m not saying you won’t break up at some point, but you know me," Tony grins cheesily, "I’m a bit of a romantic at heart - "

"Mister Stark!" Peter splutters. "Me and Ned aren’t dating!"

"...You’re not?"

" _No!"_

Tony considers this for a moment. "You sure?"

"Yes! Why - who - what made you think we are?"

Tony’s mind drifts back to that night during college; back to when he fed Rhodey soup as they watched Star Wars and then fell asleep together, Rhodey tucked up in his arms and snoring like a chainsaw through his blocked nose until the vomiting returned with a vengeance a few hours later. He sometimes wonders what would have happened if they had made it to dinner that night. Would Tony have told Rhodey how he felt? Would Rhodey have beaten him to the punch? Would they have spent more years dancing around the obvious without saying a word?

"Mister Stark?"

Looking over to the table in the corner full of pictures, Tony's eyes linger on the frame he made all those years ago before drifting to the picture standing beside it. It's a group shot from last summer down at the beach, everybody crammed in tight, pulling ridiculous faces or laughing so hard their eyes are closed. Tony and Rhodey are in the middle, faces smooshed together with matching beaming smiles. Peter, tucked under Tony's arm with Thor towering over him, has his face turned towards Ned, the pair of them grinning at each other, almost nose to nose, gazes soft and dumbstruck.

"Mister Stark!!''

''You know what, kiddo,'' Tony says, ''you call me tomorrow and let me know how your night was and I'll tell you, okay?''

''Why can't you tell me now?'' 

''Because I'd hate to ruin the surprise.''

''Surprise? What surprise? Mister Staaaark!''

''Trust me, Pete,'' Tony laughs, already dying to tell Rhodey. ''You'll know it when it happens.''

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


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